


tempo rubato

by meclea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, M/M, Making Love, Pianist!AU, aka the pianist!au rendition of episode 7, there's like one line of possessiveness but it's not enough to demand a whole tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meclea/pseuds/meclea
Summary: "Viktor," Yuuri says through a choking gasp, "what if I get a low score, what if they hate—"Viktor's hold on his neck tightens, and he pulls Yuuri closer still, bringing their faces just inches apart. "You won't, and they won't." The words are so sure, said with the confidence of a man who has played at Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, at Carnegie Hall, at Parco della Musica, at Berlin State Opera — a man talented enough to put his music into the mainstream music industry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "tempo rubato" is when a musician takes small liberties with the tempo by speeding up and slowing down at their own discretion. it literally means "in robbed time" ― as in, you steal time from one beat to give to another
> 
> please note that the songs mentioned in this fic are interpretations of the ones you know, and would as such be more complicated than the piano parts in the actual songs

"I don't know if I can do this," Yuuri says, and this admission is different from all of the other moments of insecurity he has shown throughout this season. He is pale, clammy, and the mottled bags under his eyes look like dark bruises.

"You can," Viktor says. A comforting hand slides up Yuuri's back and fastens softly around his nape. The change is instantaneous: Yuuri's posture loses its unnatural stiffness and he leans into the touch. At their very first recital, where Katsuki Yuuri and Yuri Plisetsky competed for Viktor's tutelage, Viktor had discovered that a commanding but gentle touch like this makes Yuuri relax like almost nothing else. At night, when Yuuri's hand makes a shameful descent under the covers, he imagines that firm touch in other places, guiding him, showing _desire_ for him. Even more shamefully, when the deed has been done, Yuuri lies back, panting and covered and sweat and spunk, and imagine that same secure hold around his whole body, comforting, _loving―_

Yuuri forces himself back into focus as Viktor rubs circles into his neck with a warm thumb. "Yuuri," Viktor starts again when he gets no response. "You were perfect yesterday. You brought Yuuko to tears with how you played your final piece. Focus on your music, just like you always do. If you mess up, just keep pressing on."

Yuuri's mind immediately turns to all the different ways he can sabotage his own performance with mistakes. "You're not helping," Yuuri says.

"Statistically, three-quarters of all accidents aren't even noticed by the audience."

"You just made that up."

"It sounds accurate, though, doesn't it?" Viktor says cheerfully.

"The judges have my sheet music. They'll know if I mess up," Yuuri says, miserable. The dread, almost tangible, sits heavily in his stomach.

They're standing in a spacious lobby and are one out of a handful of groups there who all speak in hushed tones. This particular music festival isn't in a concert hall; instead, it is being held in a large Protestant church, seeing as this event is for professional competition, not for enjoyment for the masses. That said, it is also being streamed real-time. The feed is swarming with fans of Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri alike.

There are two main performance areas. One is in the chapel, and the other in the "great hall," a room with rows upon rows of pews all facing a stage with a single grand piano. Participants are assigned rooms in which to perform based on skill level. The pianists competing at a lower level are in small bible study classrooms. Higher leveled pianists are given the small auditorium. Higher still perform in the chapel, and the most skilled pianists perform in the great hall.

Of course, Yuuri has landed himself a spot in the great hall, where people migrate to in hopes to hear the deliverance of a good solo.

"And they'll be impressed if they see you falter and press on! Yuuri, I know you can do it. I've heard the things you can do on the piano. You make magic happen on those keys."

"I'm playing in front of Lukas de Oliveira and Valerie Naatjes," Yuuri whispers.

He thought it was an honor, at first, to play for two of the biggest names in the field. As the festival loomed nearer and nearer, however, it had dawned on him that he isn't simply to _play_ for them; they will be _judging_ him, ranking five different categories for both of his pieces, complete with comments and a grading scale. "Viktor," Yuuri says through a choking gasp, "what if I get a low score, what if they hate—"

Viktor's hold on his neck tightens, and he pulls Yuuri closer still, bringing their faces just inches apart. "You won't, and they won't." The words are so sure, said with the confidence of a man who has played at Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, at Carnegie Hall, at Parco della Musica, at Berlin State Opera — a man talented enough to put his music into the mainstream music industry.

Viktor Nikiforov is the greatest composer of their time. This is the man who left his career at its peak to come oversee Yuuri personally, having seen that viral video the triplets uploaded and being "inspired." Yuuri isn't sure how someone like him playing on an old player piano could inspire _anyone,_ let alone Viktor Nikiforov.

What he is sure of is that if he messes up now, then it will reflect on Viktor, not just himself.

Feeling a part of his brain shut down, Yuuri says, "Okay, Viktor." He feels like he has been detached from his own body, watching a movie-like scene from far away, or like he has retreated deep within himself, and everything that comes to him is muffled, blurred. Viktor frowns at him but says nothing else. It's almost time for Yuuri's performance, anyways. Viktor leads Yuuri into the great hall with a hand anchored on his lower back.

Distantly, Yuuri realizes his sweat has gone cold. Damn Viktor for convincing him to wear the navy blue turtleneck with his black slacks instead of his loose button-down. "Blue is your color," Viktor had insisted, "and it flatters your body." How could Yuuri say no to something Viktor said looked good on him? But Yuuri knows with grave certainty that sweat stains don't look good on him. He feels the slick of it seeping under his arms.

It may not be a concert venue in the strictest sense, but the great hall is large enough to feel like one. Yuuri leaves Viktor sitting at the first pew. He shrinks under the dozens of stares on him as he walks to the makeshift judges' table. He knows that they are all quietly analyzing him, sizing him up, deciding if he looks like he's worthy enough to steal Viktor from the world.

He purposefully ignores the media cameras set up in the back of the hall.

Naatjes and de Oliveira are dressed in austere black clothing, save for a modest necklace glittering on Naatjes's throat. Crisp, professional, elegant. Yuuri misses the days when his judges were mostly old women in long, colorful skirts, whose kind smiles promised at least decent scores no matter how bad his performance would be.

"So," de Oliveira says as he takes Yuuri's sheet music from him, "you're the Yuuri Katsuki that has stolen Viktor from the music scene. We're looking forward to your performance."

It's as though Yuuri forgets all of his English in one second. He thinks he hears a garbled "Yes" come out of his mouth, but he could be speaking Latvian for all he knows. His gaze catches on the indent on his sheet music where his fingers had been gripping it too tightly. He gulps past the thickness in his throat and shuffles his way up onto the raised platform. The only sound in the whole hall is that of his shoes clicking across the wood floor.

The piano is beautiful. No matter how nervous he is, he can't help but appreciate the splendor of the grand piano, an appreciation cultivated from years of practicing on that old player piano. Yuuri sits down and brushes his fingers over the white of the keys. He closes his eyes and finds his starting position.

Just as he makes to press the first notes, he stops, suddenly reevaluating his position. During their very first lesson together, Viktor had slid up behind him, back to chest, and had pushed two of his fingers on both hands under the downward-facing palms of both of Yuuri's, easing them up from their flat slouch into a delicate curve. "Your posture is terrible!" Viktor had berated, the sound coming from right next to Yuuri's ear. Yuuri could barely focus on the scolding then, too overwhelmed by the closeness, by the novelty of his idol's presence — Viktor was here, in Hasetsu, to teach _him—_

But he could focus on the details of the memory now.

"Your posture is terrible!" Viktor had said as he pushed Yuuri's palms up. His fingers were so long. "Don't lay your fingers so flat. They should be curved so that just the tips of your fingers press the keys. Raise your wrists up higher, too. My goodness, you self-taught musicians really have no clue, do you? It seems I have my work cut out for me."

Yuuri can't help but smile as he raises his wrists and curves his fingers. No matter what the world says, he knows he's blossomed under Viktor, both as a pianist and a person. This performance isn't to show off what he's learned to the world; it's to prove to Viktor that Yuuri has more than earned the right to be coached by him. Yuuri isn't playing for Lukas de Oliveira or Valerie Naatjes, nor is he playing for any individual watching form the pews or from their computer screens at home.

He's playing for Viktor.

 _On Love: Eros_ has a sensual introduction, sinuous and inviting, a brief come-hither before launching into a lively, passionate dance unleashed by the first staccato E-chord. Yuuri falls into the music, and suddenly he can't think of anything else but the piano before him and the notes he can stroke out of it. It amazes him to think back on how he had struggled at first to find his eros to perform this piece. Now he knows the way Viktor looks at him when he plays this song with confidence. Now he knows how exhilarated and satisfied he feels when he finishes it.

His left hand plays a steady, rolling rhythm while his right flits and flirts in lilting chords above it. The grand piano sounds as majestic as it looks, and Yuuri is dizzy with the power he holds over it. The melody simmers down from teasing to caressing, and his own hands caress the keys in turn with the confidence of a lover touching the body of a familiar conquest.

Viktor helped him discover this part of his musicality, and of himself.

The song isn't full of crescendos or decrescendos, nor of accelerandos or ritardandos; it's a steady onslaught of passion and desire. But there is a pinnacle at the end, a finale where want and need meet on equal terms. The F sharp is the loudest note to ring out at the end, desperately hanging on to the last vestiges of the song. It slowly simmers out.

Yuuri is breathing heavier than usual, but not panting. He hears the sound of his breathing and nothing else; applause is prohibited between the two pieces of a performance in a competitive setting. But Yuuri shrivels under the silence; self-conscious of the raw emotions portrayed in _On Love: Eros._ It very well may be _foreplay_ put in song, and there is only one person with whom Yuuri could share that sort of vulnerable intimacy. He doesn't dare to look at the judges, and not at the audience, and especially not at Viktor. He keeps his eyes focused on the stretch of white and black keys, and moves his shaking hands to the next starting position.

The broken chords at the beginning of _Yuri on Keys_ give him an outlet for this sudden spike of nervous energy. He keeps his head down, and he doesn't realize his fingers have flattened out in that posture Viktor hates so much until his left hand swoops down to grab that first double low E flat. He instinctively raises his wrists. He wonders if Viktor fixated on Yuuri's sunken hands for the first few measures, perhaps quietly gritting his teeth as he did; the thought makes him smile.

The arpeggios briefly change to celestial dual notes, lonely and yearning, then back to the skyward chords.

His fingers don't slip when the arpeggios begin rolling back and forth across the scale. This is where the begins to slip normally, the momentum picking up faster than his fingers can capture the notes, or his fingers beginning to move faster than his brain can follow. But the music is guiding him now. Yuuri follows it, like it's not _he himself_ producing this sound.

The song treks on towards the brief respite in the middle, and Yuuri's eyes close as his fingers seek out a melody build around that E flat again. These notes sound lost and without an anchor. He _knows_ these notes, and he knows what they transpose to in his own life. He looks up for a few moments, trusting his muscle memory to guide him while he inhales, and then exhales out longer.

He casts his eyes downwards again when the arpeggios return. His own breath picks up. He's supposed to watch his tempo when he gets to this part, but his fingers seem to take up a mind of their own and edge him faster to the block chords that soar high above the bass notes. And then—

And then he's there, and he thinks he might be soaring, too.

It was Viktor. Viktor was the one to show him the wings that have been on his back and under his fingers this whole time.

It's the final stretch. He can't slow down his fingers, but he _can_ give them more notes to dance over to stay in tempo. He imagines the sound of Viktor's gasp when his arpeggios turn into _arpeggios,_ the kind that blaze across the keys, the kind that are near-impossible to pull off because of how easy it is to hit a few wrong notes and suddenly be thrown out of a chord without a way to get back in before it's lost.

This is part of what brought Viktor into the spotlight; he can do these monstrous arpeggios — ones almost always left to synthesizers and electronic music — on a real piano.

And Yuuri isn't perfect. He hasn't tried this in concert before, and never in front of Viktor. But this song is supposed to reflect himself, including the parts of him that have manifested since the song's composition. He _does_ lose the key a few times, but always, always finds his way back before letting it go completely.

Then there is the repeated broken chord again, but slowing, quieting, a sweet lentando towards a resolution. The same E flat holds with a vestal sort of certainty, as pure as it is sure.

It doesn't even finish ringing when the first of the applause starts.

Yuuri looks up, stunned to find a sea of people looking back at him. There are people standing, one by one raising up and clapping as their neighbors join them. Yuuri's mouth falls open. He hastily scampers up as well, giving a few hasty bows. He had become so lost in his own music that he had forgotten the context of his performance.

He turns to Viktor, his immediate focal point, always. But Viktor isn't sitting at the pew anymore; he's waiting at the bottom of the steps leading from the stage to the floor. The expression on his face is warm, open — proud, like he's looking at Yuuri for the first time and can't get enough of the sight. It takes everything Yuuri has not to run into Viktor's raised arms, but there is a subtle accelerando in his cadence.

Viktor pulls Yuuri in and kisses him.

It happens before Yuuri finishes the last step, and it makes him tumble forward into Viktor's strong embrace. Viktor's arms are warm and tight around him, but Yuuri can't think about anything past the hot slide of the mouth against his own.

Viktor pulls back just enough to meet Yuuri's stricken gaze with his own one of affection. "This was the only thing I could think of," Viktor says, and the world as Yuuri knows it ceases to exist outside of these quiet words, "to surprise you more than you've surprised me."

Yuuri's heart is beating rapid arpeggios in his chest. He smiles and leans his head in towards Viktor's.

Viktor leads them out of the great hall and back into the ingress, where Yuuri distractedly accepts congratulations and sentiments of awe from those who had heard his performance. Viktor is plastered at his side, his arm slung low around Yuuri's waist, fingers rubbing softly against the bone of his hip. It's maddening. Yuuri wants nothing more than to touch now that he knows he's allowed to.

It's been weeks of restraint. Yuuri feels like he's knocked down all of his walls with his no-holds-barred performance. He's vulnerable, and wants to take advantage of that vulnerability while he still can, before he becomes scared of it once more.

"Is my little katsudon antsy?" Viktor prods, lips teasing over Yuuri's ear. "You keep fidgeting."

"I want..."

"Hmm?"

Yuuri gives Viktor a pained look, wondering if Viktor is really going to make him explicitly say that he wants to explore the new physicality of their relationship. He has no clue how to even begin to put that into words without sounding sex-starved, because that _isn't_ what he wants — not exactly, anyways. Viktor's laugh eases his thoughts before he starts over-thinking. "Come, Yuuri!" he says. "We'll celebrate at the hotel."

The cab back to the hotel is long, but it's a much-needed respite. Yuuri releases all of his tension with a long sigh, sinking against Viktor's side. Viktor chuckles and runs a hand through Yuuri's hair. Yuuri may possibly start purring at any moment.

"Yes, that performance did look physically exerting. I never thought anyone could actually make love to a piano before, but you're just full of surprises today, aren't you?"

Yuuri is drunk on success, on pride, on Viktor's kiss. "Is that what it looked like? It wasn't the piano I was thinking about making love to."

That shuts Viktor up...for a moment. Then he lets loose a truly miserable whine, tucking his head down against his knees. "You can't just say things like that!"

"Can't I" Yuuri laughs happily. When Viktor resurfaces, Yuuri darts forward to place a chaste kiss on Viktor's throat, just because he can. Viktor's small, pleased chuckle is a nice bonus on top of it.

"What were you thinking about? Viktor asks later, when they're back at the hotel and they have both showered and changed, Yuuri into shorts and an old t-shirt and Viktor into loose drawstring pants and no shirt at all. "When you were performing, I mean. Regardless of your teasing, I know you weren't really thinking about making love to me. What was it, then?"

Yuuri sits at the end of his bed. He's been replying to flurries of messages from Yuuko, Minako, Phichit, and even Celestino, all expressing enthusiastic congratulations. He has already been on the phone with his mother, who sincerely commended his efforts with her steadily cheerful demeanor. He puts his phone down and regards Viktor, who leans against the wall, with all of his attention.

"A lot of it was me letting myself go to the music," Yuuri admits. "It's easy to get swept away with it. It feels _good._ But a lot of it was also...."

Viktor waits patiently for Yuuri to find the right words. His eyes look like lagoon pools, enraptured with Yuuri and only Yuuri. His face is bereft of any of his usual smiles, replaced instead by a pensive consideration.

"You inspire me, Viktor," Yuuri says. He wants to give Viktor nothing but the truth. "You know that by now, right? With you, I feel like I've evolved. You've introduced this new sort of musicality in me. When I played today, I was losing myself in this _thing_ you've helped me find."

It's dramatic, especially by Yuuri's standards, but that's what music is about for Yuuri: baring his most vulnerable parts to create art, and to define and to redefine himself. Viktor is the only one Yuuri trusts this part of himself with.

"I wanted to give you a reason to continue to believe in me."

"Yuuri," Viktor breathes right before he descends. He places a hand on the bed, bending neatly in half, his other hand coming up to cup Yuuri's jaw. The kiss is wet, and warm, but short. Yuuri decides he quite likes the feeling of Viktor leaning his forehead against his own, a simple but profound sort of intimacy. "Do you know what you do to me?" Viktor continues.

"No," says Yuuri, wrapping his arms around Viktor's neck, "but I'd like to."

Viktor laughs like the wind has been knocked out of him. The sound sets Yuuri's blood aflame. He kisses Yuuri again, lets Yuuri pull him down over himself on the bed. Like this, white hair haloing his face and eyes wide in wonder, Viktor looks like an angel. "You give me reasons to believe in you every day," Viktor says, punctuating his statement with another kiss.

His arms brace against the bed on either side of Yuuri, leaving his chest and abdomen unguarded from Yuuri's wandering hands. Yuuri again accosts Viktor's mouth with his own as he slowly slides his hands across the warm expanse of skin on his muscled torso. Viktor groans deeply, and Yuuri breaks away. They need to talk about this, first.

"Do you want...?"

"Anything you want."

They're both panting. This clash of passion has been a long time in the making, and it's impossible to pretend they're not as affected as they are.

"I want everything," Yuuri says.

Viktor groans again, bending down to mouth at Yuuri's neck, coaxing out a soft answering noise. "I want it, too. I want you."

One of Viktor's arms leaves the bed to hook around Yuuri's thigh, hiking it up on his hips. He ruts down, hard, creating a delicious grind between them, and Yuuri throws his head back. Another slow rock down, and another, and Yuuri's other leg wraps around Viktor's hips as well. They're both hard.

"You look so good like this," Viktor says with a shaky voice. "Don't let anyone else see you like this. They can have your passion at the piano, but this is mine."

"Yes," Yuuri chokes out. "You, too. Viktor, please—"

Viktor sits up, but Yuuri's thighs stay wrapped around him. Shoulders planted on the bed, Yuuri arches his hips up, an obscene invitation that Viktor forces himself to ignore. "Clothes off." It is perhaps supposed to be a command, but he doesn't wait for Yuuri to comply. He divests Yuuri of his shirt easily enough, but has to pry Yuuri's legs off of him to kick off his own pants and ease Yuuri's shorts off of those hips moving in sinful rolls.

Yuuri has seen Viktor naked before, but the context of all this bared flesh now makes it a novel experience. Viktor leans across Yuuri to grab an inconspicuous bottle of lotion from the nightstand, giving Yuuri an eyeful of glorious skin and muscle in the process. He settles between Yuuri's legs to draw them over his shoulders. "Watch me," he says, the only warning before his mouth sinks down over him.

Yuuri's mouth falls open. Despite Viktor's order, his eyes flutter closed under the sudden wet heat. Viktor pinches his thigh to bring Yuuri's gaze back to him, and their eyes lock. Viktor's mouth pops off to lick down over the length before coming back up to sloppily kiss the head in a lewd replica of a kiss.

It's divine. Yuuri could go to hell for how good this feels. He moans his pleasure, toes curling, fingers twisting in the sheets.

Distracted, Yuuri doesn't notice the fingers trailing towards his ass until they're sliding between his crack. Yuuri whines and spreads one of his legs to the side, keeping the other over Viktor's shoulder. "Eager," Viktor murmurs along Yuuri's cock, resulting in a moan and an aborted movement of Yuuri's hips. "You're no stranger to this. Do you do this to yourself when you jerk off?" Viktor's fingers have easier access to Yuuri's hole now, and they stroke firmly over the wrinkled skin there.

"Yes," Yuuri gasps, arching closer to the pressure.

"Do you think of me when you do it?"

" _Yes._ "

"Fuck," Viktor swears, biting hard against Yuuri's thigh to ground himself. "You're so hot, Yuuri."

Yuuri mewls at the bite, squirming, and Viktor moves the hand not working him open to pin his hips down and his leg out of the way. The strain this forces into his thigh is amazing. Viktor's mouth slips back down over yuuri's cock, and he finally breaches Yuuri's puckered hole with a slick finger. The litany of breathy whines Yuuri responds with is embarrassing, but Viktor's eyes grow impossibly darker, smoldering with the heat of arousal.

The finger delves deep. Yuuri's hips can't decide whether to move towards the intrusion or towards the wet heat around him. A few moments of deliberation later and Viktor decides for him, sliding another finger up to the hilt as he drops his mouth as low as possible around Yuuri's cock. Yuuri is paralyzed with pleasure. The fingers inside of him twist and stroke without mercy. The head of his cock brushes the soft flesh at the back of Viktor's throat, causing his gag reflex to spasm briefly before relaxing again. Yuri burns with the intensity of it. Viktor's mouth is the quintessence of rapture. It's so _good._

Then Viktor's fingers sweep over that spot, the one that Yuuri can't ever get to on his own, his fingers too short, the angle too wrong. But Viktor's fingers are long, elegant, and can play Yuuri's body as well as any piano. Yuuri keens and writhes through the onslaught of euphoria as Viktor's fingers focus on that one area in him. Viktor pulls off of Yuuri's cock with a wet popping noise and grins against Yuuri's leg. "There?" he asks, as though he doesn't already know. Garbled pleas spill from Yuuri's mouth. Viktor's eyes are dark pools of heat, glinting dangerously from between Yuuri's spread thighs. "That's it, Yuuri," Viktor urges. His fingers stroke ruthlessly harder over Yuuri's prostate. "Sing for me."

"Viktor," Yuuri whines. His hands untangle from the bedsheets to beat weakly on Viktor's shoulders. "Gonna...I want to come with you in me, please stop!"

Viktor groans. His fingers drag across that spot once more before withdrawing. Yuuri pants, focuses on the ceiling, tries to count in his head for a few beats — anything to reign himself back in. Viktor climbs up Yuuri's sweat-slick body and settles his forehead against the ridge of Yuuri's collarbone. "You," Viktor says, "are going to be the death of me. God, look at you. Listen to that voice, oh, Yuuri...."

Yuuri somehow finds it in himself to laugh. "You sound as wrecked as I do. I haven't even done anything for you."

Viktor mouths sloppily over Yuuri's throat, his hips giving a lazy thrust on Yuuri's thigh. "I've wanted this for a long time," Viktor admits.

"Me too," Yuuri says, his body arching against Viktor's. As he and Viktor indulge in slow, deliberate kisses, he stretches out to grab the lotion and flicks it open. When he gets just enough on his hand, he throws the bottle aside and immediately wraps the hand around Viktor.

Viktor purrs, the sound deep and arousing. Yuuri will never get tired of hearing it. Viktor's length is hard and throbbing and hot in Yuuri's hand, and fuck, Yuuri wants it in him. It would fill him up so nicely. He lets go, ignoring Viktor's noise of protest, and his fingers, still covered in left over lotion, slip over Viktor's back as he tries to grab hold. "Viktor...Viktor, in me, please."

"Yes," Viktor breathes. He braces himself over Yuuri, who hikes his legs up high on Viktor's waist. Their cocks are lined up like this, and Yuuri instinctively chases the pressure, grinding upwards. "Yuuri," Viktor hisses. He indulges in the friction for a moment before reaching a hand down to grip Yuuri's hip, ceasing the motion. Then he holds the base of his cock, and shifts forward through Yuuri's entrance, and then he's there, right where Yuuri needs it the most.

At the first thrust in, Yuuri does a full-body shudder, and he moans. His arms go around Viktor's neck. His legs urge Viktor's hips closer, closer, and closer still, until the entirety of Viktor's length has completely sunken into him. They pant moist huffs of breath into each other's ears. "You take me so well, Yuuri," Viktor praises with a voice broken by pleasure. "Does this feel...?"

"Go, Viktor, please, I need—"

Viktor's hips cock back to drive forward again. His cock slides deliciously inside of Yuuri, hot and hard against his walls. "Yes," Yuuri breathes, his hold on Viktor tightening. It feels just as good as, better than, Yuuri imagined it would be. His own cock bounces between them with the force of Viktor's strong but focused movements.

"Do you know," Viktor says, mouth open against Yuuri's jaw, "how ethereal you look by a piano? You look beautiful there. I want to make love to you on one when we go home."

Home, Viktor says, meaning Hasetsu, like Hasetsu _is_ Viktor's home as well. Yuuri tries to make his whines into intelligible words. "You, too. You look like a god when you play, Viktor, oh — hah — the look on your face is beautiful, and — and your hands, Viktor, your hands are—"

"My hands?"

"I can't focus too long on your hands when you play," says Yuuri. His eyes have fallen shut, lost in the rapture of it all, Viktor's cock taking him apart so well. "If I do, I can't think of anything but them on me, in me—"

Viktor's answering groan cuts Yuuri off. "The death of me," he says again. In one fluid motion, he sits back, pulling Yuuri up with him. Yuuri's legs and arms stay locked around him, tighter now; Viktor is on his splayed knees, his thighs a cushion for Yuuri's bottom. Like this, gravity pulls Yuuri down impossibly farther onto Viktor's cock, and the angle, the _angle_ — Yuuri sees stars, and then temporarily sees nothing at all as Viktor's hand finds its way between them to wrap around his cock. His head drops backwards and incoherent babble tumbles from his lips until Viktor silences him with a messy open kiss. Viktor's thrusts have to go up against Yuuri's weight, but the resulting movement has him grinding hard against Yuuri's prostate just right. Yuuri squirms and whimpers. "Viktor, Viktor, hah, please, I'm — I'm—"

"Show me, Yuuri," Viktor says into Yuuri's mouth. "That's it, come for me, show me what this does to you, please, Yuuri—"

And Yuuri comes beautifully undone. He feels like he's falling off some precipice, but also like he's floating, like tjhe world has narrowed down to this, just he and Viktor at the pinnacle of pleasure and love. Streaks of white land across their stomachs and over Viktor's hand. Yuuri sobs praises into Viktor's jaw, and with a low growl, Viktor spills his own pleasure, a warm heat inside Yuuri.

They descend back to earth between heavy pants and searching gazes exchanged in the space between foreheads pressed together. Without breaking eye contact, Viktor slowly lowers Yuuri back down to the bed.

He then promptly slumps all of his weight down.

Yuuri's objection comes in the form of a grunt. Viktor whines into Yuuri's chest. "Heavy," Yuuri complains.

"Tired," Viktor whines.

Yuuri grumbles and pulls Viktor up to a more comfortable position, his body only half on top of Yuuri now, his face tucked into the crook of Yuuri's neck. The activity makes the first trail of cum leak out of Yuuri's asshole, and his face immediately flushes. If he doesn't get up now to clean out the mess before he falls asleep, he's going to feel disgusting when he wakes up.

But Viktor makes a compelling argument when he kisses Yuuri's neck once, then his jaw, and finally his lips.

"I'm so glad this happened," Viktor sighs happily.

"You're glad you boned me?" Yuuri teases in a deadpan.

"No— I mean, yes— damn it, Yuuri," Viktor says as Yuuri laughs softly at his expense. Viktor laughs too and kisses Yuuri again. "This," Viktor says, quietly this time. "Us. You are...more precious to me than any music in the world. I'm glad we get to be here together like this."

Yuuri tucks his smile against Viktor's mouth in a sleepy kiss. "Me, too." A pause. The silence is comfortable and lulling. "I can't believe we did that. We went from a kiss to this so quickly, especially when that build-up took so long...."

Yuuri can feel Viktor's laugh shaking through his chest. "You've always moved at your own pace. There's nothing wrong with that. Set the tempo that makes your music _yours,_ Yuuri."

Yuuri can probably tease him for such a cheesy statement, but he understands what Viktor means. A pleased warmth spreads from his smile all the way down to his toes.

Yuuri's tempo is his own, but the music is theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my piano teacher. i bet u never thought i'd be putting ur lessons to use like this
> 
> anyways when i was describing the out-of-this-world arpeggios, i was thinking....like, the end of [you and beautiful world](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeJ5dgCrng0) in terms of monstrosity. go big or go home, right?
> 
> i know it might not look like it but i typically hate these making love sort of scenes. idk how this happened. hmu on [tumblr](http://oikawasnipples.tumblr.com)


End file.
